A Time And A Season

 

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven."

Ecclesiates Chapter 3

No matter how much we grumble, wish, affirm, and pray, spring will get here when it will and not before. I can't tell you how many conversations I've had with Mother Nature over the seeming unfairness of this part of the world always getting stuck with endless winters only to be followed by springs that seem to, well, "spring" by (pardon the pun). As a retired outdoor gardener I can't tell you how many times I've seen occasions like the picture above, when the bulbs finally start to push their way through the earth and into the light because we've had an early February or March thaw, only to be hijacked by one more blast of winter. The fact that we humans have contributed to the harsh climate changes we've seen over the last decade or so seems to never enter our minds when our favorite crocus finally blooms only to wake up one morning to see it covered in snow. Spring will get here in full force when it is ready. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose no matter how much we wish we could change it.

The same holds true in our own lives. Sometimes we try to push things through to "make something happen," when clearly it wasn't meant to be. It's all well and good to use tools like affirmations, visualizations, mantras, etc., but often, when things don't happen when we think they should, it's because we aren't ready to handle it even though we've been repeating our affirmations 200 times a day. How much more will we appreciate what we desire if it comes when we are ready and able to receive it. We've all heard the stories of people who wail "If only I could win the lottery all of my troubles would be over," only to hear that, after they actually do win the lottery, they are miserable and back where they started within a year. What we desire will come to us in the perfect time, space, and circumstances when we let go of trying to control everything and leave room for growth. Just like putting a seed in the ground, we can't expect it to turn into a flower the next day. To everything there is a season, and a time, and a purpose. 

And so it is.

Why Worry?

 

I'm sitting at my desk looking out at the snow coming down once again. On a more positive note, at least it's not blowing like a hurricane as it has been the last few days. My neighbor, the big tree next door, is being spared that assault for today.

I worry a lot about that tree. It's a huge, huge pine tree, 50 feet at least. In the three years that I've been living here it has taken a distinct tilt southward from where it was when I first moved in after all the windy beatings it has taken. We get some pretty good storms up here, both summer storms and winter blizzards, and 50 mph or higher wind gusts are not out of the question. While I'm certainly concerned for the house next door, and the people in it, should all or part of that giant come down, I'm just as worried about about that old tree itself. It has been here for more years than any of the houses or people in this neighborhood, or in this part of the country for that matter. It has seen decades and decades of history come and go and still it stood, giving shade and protection to the tiny creatures that call it home, and pine cones for their use. It has lived through wars, presidents of both parties, disease and disasters, and still it hangs in there.

I suppose I shouldn't worry about that tree. Chances are it still has a few more good years in it. Should the unfortunate befall it, it will go on to provide wood for people's fireplaces to keep them warm, and shredded bark to protect our children and grandchildren in the local parks, or as mulch for our gardens. It will go on caring for others because that's what it was put here for. When you talk about looking at the Big Picture, no one has a better perspective than Mother Nature. 

We spend so much time worrying about things that we have absolutely no control over. We worry about what might happen, or what happens to others, or what shouldn't have happened. 

"That the birds of worry and care fly over your head, this you cannot change, but that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent." ~ Chinese Proverb

Nothing is written in stone. Nothing is a sure thing. As I wrote last week, death and taxes are the only things we can be sure of. That we spend so much of our lives worrying doesn't have to be a given either. It's taking the time we have and throwing it out of the window like yesterday's garbage.

"Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy." ~ Leo Buscaglia 

That tree will probably outlive me and all of my neighbors. Worrying about it won't stop that. What I can continue to do is enjoy watching it, giving thanks for its beauty, its life of service to other living things, and all the lessons it teaches me every day. What do I learn from trees? Well, trees never worry about being as good as the next tree, about being acceptable to themselves and the world, or that they aren't as important, or useful, or their lives aren't as valid as, say, a mountain or a river. They teach me character, nobility, humbleness, and grace. They teach me to grab each day as if it were my last and live it with all the love and authenticity I can. And if the day does come when it is no longer standing outside my window, I will make sure to grab a branch to keep inside here with me right next to this desk so that I can remember all those lessons. Trees may come and go, but their lessons, like their lives, live on in others.

And so it is. 

Winter White

 

"Today I am open to the presence of miracles."

Deepak Chopra 

I was watching a home decorating program the other day and the woman was trying to describe the kind of white paint she wanted for the kitchen cabinets. She finally blurted out: "You know, winter white." I certainly do know what kind of "white" she was talking about. I'd seen it up close and personal last week.

We've just come through a really cold week where temperatures were in the minus digits and that was without the wind chill. One morning I pulled back the curtains to look out and was greeted by what looked like a white canvas. Snow had fallen over night and everything was covered in a light blanket of white. The clouds hid the hills in the distance so that they seemed to disappear. What really amazed me, though, was the air itself. Right in front of my eyes, the frozen air was filled with ice crystals that had turned into prisms which, reflecting the light and the color of the ground around it, had turned the very air into a hazy white curtain. It was more than just your run-of-the-mill fog - it was a pure, white painting ... winter white.

I always say that if you really want to see miracles, go out into nature. They are all around you. From my ice crystal day, to a hauntingly beautiful sunset, to the first tips of green shooting up through the frozen ground, to the sight of a flock of geese urging each other across the sky, to the glory of the Grand Canyon, to the stark beauty of the ocean at dawn ... miracles are all around us. How many times can we see something in nature that shouldn't have happened by any stretch of the imagination but, somehow, it did? And when I say nature, I am including human nature as well. How many times when all hope is lost does someone pull through a life-ending injury or illness? Or a childless couple who had given up hope discover that they are pregnant? 

I came across the above quote by Deepak Chopra as part of a guided meditation on the miraculous journey through life. Looking at that crystal curtain of light the other day, I, too, am prepared to see miracles today ... and every day. May you see them as well.

And so it is. 

The Dream Time

 

I have to hand it to the bears. They certainly know how to get through the winter ... just hibernate. Sleep through it until spring. There have certainly been days already this winter when that sounds like a perfectly good idea. Even the trees are hunkered down deep in their roots waiting for the earth to thaw and the first stirrings of life return to start their journey towards the light. I've often wondered, though:  Do the trees dream? Do the bears dream? 

Many Native American teachings look on winter as the dream time, a time to renew their connection to the earth, to their heritage, and to plan for the spring. People sit around the fire and listen as the elders tell stories about their history, their lineage, and the lessons the young ones need to learn not only to survive but to pass on to their own children some day. I can imagine that many of those young ones, upon hearing the stories, would curl up at night and dream of great battles won or being successful at a great hunt. Dreams are our spirits way of telling us a story.

Thinking about those traditions makes me want to shut off the TV, phone, laptop, tablet, etc., and sit round a fire  - live or virtual, in my case - and and have my own dream time, a time to tell my own stories for future generations of my tribe/family to share. What a perfect time, when the days are dark and the wind is howling outside, to tuck a blanket around ourselves of memories and stories from our own past and set them down for our children and grandchildren to share. The Native people would say that what we say and do now will affect the next 7 generations so it is up to us to make what we share something that will help them grow into who they are meant to be. Maybe one day they will take our stories and have their own dream time one dark and cold winter to see them through to the spring of their lives. 

And so it is. 

Letting Things Breathe

 

Every gardener knows that it is essential to aerate the soil every once in a while in order to let the soil breathe and give the roots room to spread out. Now that I have become a year-round indoor gardener, I don't have to wait until the ground softens after the winter frosts have gone to do that. I am able to give the soil in my indoor pots and planters a good stir every so often so that, even in the dead of winter outside, inside my roots and the soil they live in can breathe, stretch themselves, and grow.

As always, there is a lesson here that Mother Nature is graciously sharing with us. If we want things in our inner gardens - a.k.a our hearts, our spirits, our souls - to grow healthy and strong, we have to let the soil they are growing in breathe. That means that when we get bogged down in worry, blame, hate, and hopelessness, we have to find a way to stir our inner soil to let the bad stuff out and the good stuff reach out and stretch its roots. I'm talking about things like love, compassion, kindness, understanding, acceptance, hope, and joy. Some of the ways that we can let our inner gardens breathe is to stay away from negativity online and in the media as much as possible and spend that time reading uplifting material, doing things that bring us joy, and, especially, doing things for others. It is so much easier to love and appreciate ourselves, and grown ourselves into happy, healthy individuals, when we love and appreciate others. 

Right now I'm about to loosen the soil around my begonias and the geranium that is outgrowing its pot. With any luck, they will be blooming before spring. May your own garden do the same.

Peace and blessing.

While The Earth Sleeps

This is the time of the year when every gardener worthy of the name (and some who aspire to it) start receiving seed and plant catalogs in the mail, tempting them with page after page of beautiful flowers, luscious veggies, and all manner of foliage that they are sure will make the garden of their dreams a reality. While the garden sleeps, gardeners plan.

I always wondered if Mother Nature does the same thing. Of course she doesn't receive seed catalogs in the mail (at least I don't think she does but who knows), but I always wondered if she looked back at all that she had grown over the past year and decided what stayed, what she'd pull out, and what she'd improve upon. Did those new flowers in the southwest holdup to the heat? Did the new hybrid veggies in the northeast stand up to the early frosts they get up there? And what about those areas devastated by fire this past year? What was she going to plant to help them come back? What would she grow in the ashes?

I like to think of this time of year, while the world sleeps under the cover of ice and snow, as a time to do some inner gardening. Curled up under a blanket, with a cup of something hot in our hands, we can create out own catalog of dream seeds, those things we want to plant in the new year to help our inner gardens to thrive. What needs to be pulled out? What didn't grow the way we thought it would - or should - and what did? Where do we need to turn over our inner soil and start something new? If our life was a catalog, what would we want to see on the pages that, if planted and nurtured, would give us a garden of life full of beauty and a harvest beyond our imaginations? Perhaps, as the world sleeps, we can use this time the way Mother Nature uses hers. 

This year especially,  let's start planning our inner garden way before the snow melts and the first buds appear on the trees. By the time the world wakes up and warms up to spring, we would already have the first tiny buds of our inner garden poking through the ashes, ready to make our lives and the world a more beautiful place to be.

And so it is. 

The Light In Winter

Well, here we are again. It started snowing late yesterday afternoon and this morning I woke to a fresh carpet of a few inches on the ground, just when the last of the big 40.5 inches had almost disappeared. The sky is socked in with a white blanket of clouds and the hills in the back are snow-covered with dots of green from the pines trees. All of the trees look as if they were decorated with tiny fluffs of cotton. Between the snow and the winter light, the entire landscape looks like a blank canvas.

In the winter, the Northern Hemisphere points away from the sun, resulting in fewer hours of sunshine and shorter days. Shadows are far more "shadowy" during the winter months. Some days they almost look theatrical. Other days, like today, there is such a contrast between the whiteness of the landscape and the few dots of dark from the bare trees and a few houses that the whole idea of a blank canvas becomes more intense. I like to think of it as Mother Nature washing everything clean and using the winter months to think of what she wants to do in the spring, what colors and forms she wants to decorate the earth with this year. For me it is a reminder that as a blank canvas is to a painter, so is a blank page to a writer, and a clean slate to anyone who wants to wash away the old experiences and ideas that no longer work and start fresh. While I am not a person who ever believed in New Year's Resolutions, I am a gardener at heart and the idea of creating something new, or something better, from a section of freshly turned soil is right up there with Mother Nature's clean canvas. It's the chance to paint our inner landscapes with color, and joy, and peace. Now that's what I call a work of art.

And so it is.